


Inevitable

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Angst, Canon - Manga, Canonical Character Death, Dark, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Insanity, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Nightmares, seriously this is nothing but upsetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:43:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Giriko ignores it as long as he can, as much as he can." Justin's descent into Madness leaves signs that Giriko does his best to not see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Descent

Giriko knows the end is close.

He can hear it, feel it, see it. It’s written in the haze in Justin’s eyes, the way the blond doesn’t quite  _see_  anything, anymore. It’s in the quaver of fanaticism under every word out of the priest’s mouth. It’s humming under Justin’s skin, shaking like he has electricity in his veins instead of blood, and Giriko knows that when it grounds out Justin -- at least Justin-as-he-is -- isn’t going to survive the shock.

He ignores it as long as he can, as much as he can. At first he can tell himself he doesn’t care. Justin is convenient and willing and that’s it, that’s all. But then Giriko starts sleeping on one side of the bed, adjusts around a second presence even when Justin isn’t there with him, and the first time he does that he wakes up in a cold sweat of panic.

The nightmares come regular, after that. Giriko is used to nightmares, dreams of death, dreams of darkness and violence and blood, but he’s not used to dreaming about someone else. Usually waking is enough to break the spell, to convince himself that  _he’s_  still alive and that’s all that matters. But now he flails sideways, reaches for the other half of the mattress for a body that is only sometimes there, and even when his hand meets skin it’s feverish heat instead of comforting warmth he feels.

Justin doesn’t sleep, anymore, even when he stays in the bedroom. He stares at the wall, shakes silently with perpetual adrenaline; sometimes he bites his fingers bloody, when he forgets. Sometimes it’s not the nightmares that wake Giriko but the laughter, sometimes muffled and sometimes not, from the form next to him. Sometimes he lies awake and still and lets the sound roll over him, tells himself he doesn’t care, lies to himself like dragging bloody grooves into his brain, trying to scar belief into the tissue.

Sometimes he rolls over, fast like he’s attacking, claps his hand over Justin’s mouth and hisses “Shut  _up_  Justin,” and tries not to listen to the way his voice creaks over the blond’s name. He tries to forget the way that Justin is shaking under his hands, laughing and vibrating with that insane electricity even when Giriko’s got his mouth covered, and he is pathetically grateful that Justin can’t see his face as the blond’s hair goes wet with the tears Giriko can’t fight back.

With the pressure of  _awareness_  bearing down on him, it’s no wonder his new vessel collapses under the weight. And in the midst of the bloodlust, as he feels the fibers of his soul tearing under the excess, Giriko starts to laugh.

He never thought he’d go  _first_.


	2. Purge

Justin should be surprised.

He should be surprised, or shocked, or horrified, or  _something_  when Noah brings back word that Giriko is dead. He should cry, or scream, or maybe just go into the shocked silence of a broken man. Maybe he should stop eating, or stop sleeping. But he’s already barely sleeping, and eating is an afterthought at best at this point, and he should not be rationally considering his reaction this long.

In the end he nods, and goes back to the room that has become their room, at some point in the last few months of working and living and sleeping together. Justin stands in the doorway and looks at the objects in the space -- the bed with the sheets still tangled on Giriko’s side, the chainsaw’s clothes scattered over the floor, the magazine lying open on a table where Giriko left it.

It’s not Giriko. They are things, just objects, and none of them matter. None of them ever mattered, not really. There’s barely any evidence that Justin even existed in this space; there’s a hint of indentation on his side of the bed, but there’s more proof of that being  _his_  side of the bed in his own thoughts than in the furnishings in front of him.

He has to remember to blink. He has had to remember to do a lot of things, recently, that used to come naturally. Eating. Breathing. Sleeping. Blinking. When he moves it feels odd and awkward; every motion requires thinking through the process of flexing muscles and adjusting balance. Noah doesn’t say anything about the stiffness in his gait when Justin finds him, just looks at him with unnecessary sympathy in his eyes and tells him he can help himself to whatever he needs. So Justin collects a handful of lighters and the high-proof alcohol only Giriko ever drank and goes back to the empty room.

The bed takes the longest. In the end Justin has to tear into the mattress, rip the sheets into strips that will catch and flare until he can get the frame itself to catch. The magazine goes up crispy with the laminate on the glossy pages, and the alcohol makes everything smell sweet and poisonous. Justin doesn’t know how long it takes, but eventually there’s nothing left in the room but heat and ashes and himself.

He licks his lips. They taste like smoke and alcohol, and when the memory of Giriko’s mouth filters through his thoughts he offers it up to the Madness, slits its throat and lets the blood wash away the human hurt under the recollection. His hands are filthy, covered in ashes and dust, and that triggers another memory of callused hands fitting against the lines of his body, and that one’s given up too. He shuts his eyes and can remember black fabric over broad shoulders. He bites his lip and remembers sharp teeth drawing his blood in their wake. He hears Giriko’s voice, sees him behind his eyelids, feels phantom skin under his fingertips and ghostly lips against his, and he doesn’t realize he’s crying.

By the time he leaves, all the hurt and all the memories and all of Justin Law is gone, and when Noah asks him if he wants another bedroom, he shakes his head without speaking and without bothering to blink.

He doesn’t sleep again.


End file.
